


Same But Different

by Espereth



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espereth/pseuds/Espereth
Summary: Alistair helps Cynric, a City Elf Warden, through his first Archdemon nightmare. Lying together in Cynric's tent they get talking, and it turns out Alistair is curious.





	

On a cold, clear evening in the Hinterlands east of Redcliffe, Cynric Tabris and his companions made camp. The sun set while Alistair, Cynric and Leliana - a new addition to their band since Lothering - pitched their tents in a close triangle around a small fire. Morrigan had reached camp earlier in the day and was already well set up, camped by herself not far off. The air crackled with magical wards around her tent, which had zapped out their warnings when Cynric had approached to hail her. Evidently, the sorceress didn't want company.

"What's the matter with her?" said Alistair, nodding towards Morrigan's tent. 

Cynric shrugged, warming his hands near the flames. The tents were up, the firelight flickering cheerfully and lighting the canvas in orange. Bulging wineskins, purchased from the dwarven trader Bodahn Feddic, beckoned their reward after a hard day's travel. The little campsite looked almost like a home. Morrigan's tent, on the other hand, was in darkness. If she had lit a fire herself, she had somehow obscured it; a useful skill to have, but one the mage was unlikely to share. 

By now accustomed to Morrigan's various moods, Cynric didn't care one way or the other where she camped. It was amusing, sometimes, to overhear the Templar and the Witch of the Wilds trading barbs; but some peace and quiet was also good. 

"Let her be," said Cynric idly, then grinned. "Unless you feel the need for a sharp sting in the behind from triggering her wards. Those things hurt."

"Perhaps another time," Alistair said drily.

Leliana emerged from her tent, covering her mouth daintily as she yawned. "Shall I catch us something for our supper? I'm hungry," she said. 

Cynric's stomach grumbled in response, and Alistair shot him a sympathetic look. He knew that the elf was experiencing the beginnings of the physical changes after the Joining - starting with ravenous, endless hunger.

At that moment, the stocky hound Darga emerged from the forest with a rustle of undergrowth. 

"Looks like you won't need to," said Cynric, as the mabari dropped a fat dead rabbit at his feet. It was a clean kill, skin unbroken but neck efficiently snapped.

"For me?" Cynric asked politely.

"Arf," replied Darga, bouncing eagerly in a circle and raising a cloud of dust with his heavy, clawed paws. 

"Good dog," said Cynric, ruffling the mabari's coarse fur. "Clever Darga!" The hound wagged his stumpy tail so hard his whole body wiggled, from narrow hindquarters to broad shoulders and solid neck. 

"Did you catch something for yourself first, Darga?"

Darga licked his muzzle and gave a satisfied bark to signify the affirmative, then rolled onto his back to wait for belly rubs. Cynric obliged, scratching the warm, taut underbelly and smiling as one of Darga's hind legs spasmed in delight. 

After letting Darga bathe in his approval for a few moments, Cynric caught the dog's attention. "Up, Darga," he said, and the hound leapt to his feet. Darga shook himself off and panted expectantly, mouth open and tongue out in a happy grin. "Scout the campsite," Cynric said. "Tell me if you smell anyone - or anything - that shouldn't be here."

Darga barked happily, proud to be tasked with protecting his pack. He licked Cynric's palm and made a quick circle of the campsite, snuffling at their belongings with great interest. Alistair's boots were drying by the fire, and the dog sniffed one as he passed, immersing his whole snout in the human warrior's scent before bounding off into the night to patrol.

"Such a happy beast," Leliana said. "Would that I could be so carefree."

Alistair watched the hound's muscled, brindly body disappear into the dark. "Yes," he said. "Such blissful ignorance must be... well, blissful. He hasn't the faintest idea of what's to come."

"I'm not so sure about that," Cynric said. "I think he can sense there's a fight coming. Maybe he's just glad to have found his place in it." Cynric could understand that. The thought of war with the Archdemon, of Blighted lands and darkspawn massed at the gates of every city, was only bearable if you were doing something to fight back. If Duncan hadn't recruited him, Cynric would have surely been as powerless as anyone else.

"Well, anyone who can stick his face down one of my boots and live to yap about it will find the darkspawn hordes about as challenging as a stroll in the palace gardens," Alistair said. "So perhaps his carefree nature is justified."

"The rest of us don't have that luxury, unfortunately," Cynric said, wrinkling his nose at the offending boots. "Move those things, Alistair, so I can cook."

Cynric made short work of the rabbit, stripping the skin with his belt knife in a few deft movements. He saved the skin for Darga, as a reward for patrolling. The dog would get the carcass as well, of course. Cynric had found that the mabari would eat pretty much anything dead and un-Tainted. Darga's strong teeth, powered by immense jaw muscles, cracked effortlessly through bones and all. It was certainly useful when it came to cleaning up.

When the rabbit was spitted to perfection - crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside - Cynric took it down from the fire and passed the meat to his companions before choosing a piece himself. The three fell to.

"This is very good," said Leliana, sounding surprised. "I've had rabbit in Orlais that was not so tender as this."

"Mmm. Let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've traveled with Cynric," Alistair said with his mouth full. "If this is what he can do with a firepit and a skewered rabbit, imagine if he had a whole kitchen? I'd move in and never leave."

"If half-decent cooking is all it takes to win your heart, my friend," said Cynric, raising his eyebrows at the human warrior, "consider yourself wooed." 

Leliana gave a knowing giggle, and Alistair's cheeks flushed a little. Cynric laughed softly and clapped Alistair's shoulder in apology. It was hard to resist teasing him - he was such an easy mark. 

They finished their meal in silence. 

Their hunger sated, the companions drank wine and planned the morrow's journey. Redcliffe was their next destination, there to seek Arl Eamon's support against Teyrn Loghain. They would leave at dawn, hoping for easy passage through the rest of the Hinterlands, sticking to the road and passing through farmlands instead of forest. If they were not waylaid, they would reach the city with enough light left in the day to gain admission to the castle. 

Their plans made, weary from travel, the three retired to their tents soon after. Cynric kicked off his boots and stretched out. His head barely touched his bedroll before he was asleep.

***

Everything was red - all blood and fire, and screeching pain. A dragon rose from darkness and filth to arch through the sky, searing terror through Cynric's very soul. Something cold and clammy pressed over his face, blocking the breath from his mouth and nose. He tried to suck in air and found only wet, suffocating cloth. His heart thumped in panic, his lungs fought for breath and now got nothing at all. He was fading, dying, drowning...

"Cynric!" He heard his name called; Alistair's voice. The constricting cold lifted from his face and he drew in breath with a long, ragged gasp that became something between a scream and a wracking cough, echoing in his ears as he shot up to a sitting position. His head bumped against the roof of his tent. His limbs were imprisoned in blankets, and he pulled them off, throwing himself through the open tent flap, onto his back, where he lay sucking in cold air. Freezing sweat clung to his chest and throat, soon joined by the damp soaking through the back of his shirt. Light rain fell on his face. He lived. 

Alistair stood over him in the flicker of lantern light, barefoot and bare-chested in only his trousers. "Cynric?" 

Still breathing hard, Cynric couldn't reply. He half expected that suffocating terror to return at any moment. He let Alistair help him up off the ground, strong hands wrapping around his forearms and gently helping him to rise.

"A nightmare?" Concern knotted Alistair's brow. The human's broad shoulders shone damp with rain, and droplets flickered in his red-blond hair. He was naked from the waist up, except for the Warden's amulet around his throat, the pendant nestled in the hollow of his collarbone. Maker, he was a handsome man. Cynric reached for him in a rush of relief and confused desire. Surprise flickered across Alistair's features before he embraced Cynric in a quick hug, then pulled back to arms' length.

"It felt so real," Cynric said, even as the dream began to fog, dissolving into a memory of fire and fear. He realised he was shaking, from cold or terror or both. "I couldn't breathe." He remembered his scream-cough, and flushed with embarrassment. Now that the immediate sense of danger was over, he felt rather pathetic. "I'm sorry I woke you," he said.

"I was still awake," Alistair said. "Good thing, too. You knocked your tent down, thrashing around. It fell right on top of you. I think that's why you couldn't breathe. Anyway, I've put it right."

"Thanks," Cynric said. Alistair frowned, brown eyes narrowing and eyebrows drawing together in thought. His face was so expressive, Cynric mused; every thought seemed to walk across it, plain as day. Cynric would have to convince him to play a game of cards some time. He sensed it would be a very quick game.

"What you heard was real, in a way," Alistair said. "That's part of being a Grey Warden - hearing the darkspawn."

"Come inside," Cynric said, shaking his head in confusion. "Let's get out of the rain." He ducked back inside his tent and held the flap for Alistair to enter. 

"Er - all right." Alistair was tall, even for a human, and the top of his head bumped against the thick canvas of the tent roof as he edged inside. "Cosy in here, isn't it?"

"Sorry about that," Cynric said. "It's roomy enough for me." He pulled off his damp shirt and sat cross-legged, forcing himself to take deep, calming breaths.

Setting down the lantern, Alistair launched into an explanation about the Archdemon - which, he confirmed, was the dragon Cynric had seen - communicating with the darkspawn horde. Cynric only half-heard him, and understood even less. Even as the dream faded, he couldn't shake the feeling of pure terror it had invoked in him. He wondered again why Duncan had chosen him, of all people, for this monumental task - he got the shakes just dreaming about the Archdemon, let alone facing the blasted thing. Still, it had to be done, and he would not demean Duncan's memory by flinching from the task. At least he had allies.

Alistair looked at him, reaching to brush the elf's damp black hair from his face. He examined Cynric's eyes closely, as though trying to read him. "Are you all right? It was scary for me too, at first," he said. "I thought I should explain."

"Thanks, Alistair," Cynric said. "I'm all right, I think. I suppose you've been through all this yourself."

"I have. The dreams - they're horrible. If I could choose between them and the pangs of starvation, I'd take ravenous, insatiable hunger any day. Lucky you, though - looks like you get both, like I did."

Cynric laughed. "Fortunate indeed." He lay back on his bedroll, folding his arms behind his head. With Alistair's solid, steady presence beside him, he was beginning to calm down. "I'm glad you're here, Alistair," he said. "I can't imagine what it would be like, doing this alone."

"You don't have to," said Alistair, steadfastly. "We're in this together."

Sleep was far away, after waking up like that. Cynric lay restless, his heart still thudding fast. He needed to talk, but not about dreams and darkspawn and demons.

"Talk to me, Alistair," he said. 

"About what?"

"Anything. I don't know. Growing up as a Templar-in-training. It must have been a restrictive life - I'd wager you had to make your own fun. What did you get up to, with the other boys?"

"Er, right. You just jump straight to the personal questions, don't you?" Cynric didn't need to see Alistair's face to know that he was frowning. "We all know about the rumours, of course, but they're mostly just that - rumours."

Cynric laughed, raising his brows. "Actually, all I meant was pranks and such," he said. "You know - spiders in the priests' slippers, that sort of thing. But whatever you seem to be thinking of sounds far more interesting."

"Ah. I see. Er - pranks, of course." Alistair rubbed his temples in embarrassment. "Yes, we played pranks. Quite a lot of them, in fact. One time we shaved a stray cat and left it in the Revered Mother's bedchambers." He chuckled at the memory.

"Oh?" Cynric said, waiting for the punchline. "Then what happened?"

"Well... eventually, I suppose its fur grew back," Alistair replied after a pause. "You know, it doesn't sound half as funny as we thought it was at the time. Poor old cat."

Silence fell, and stayed; awkward but companionable.

"I've thought about it, of course," Alistair said after a while, shooting a glance at Cynric in the dark. "All the stories the Chantry told us - about sinning and such - you couldn't help but think about... things. Things that wouldn't even have occurred to you otherwise."

"You mean, 'sinning' between men?"

"Oh, any sinning. Sin sin sin, that's all we mortals are good for, you know that. But yes, I honestly believe I'd never have bothered to think… 'sinning'… with another man was even possible if they hadn't threatened us with certain doom if we ever did it."

Cynric grinned. "It does make one wonder why they're so obsessed with it."

More silence followed, with Alistair fidgeting, trying to get comfortable. Cynric's tent wasn't long enough for him to stretch out.

"Cynric, I have a question," Alistair said eventually. "Tell me if this awkward... Oh, who am I kidding? It's awkward. I'm going to ask you anyway. You don't have to answer. But then, you know that - and I can't imagine someone like you being pushed into talking about something if you didn't want to." 

Despite the shakes still running through his body every now and again, Cynric grinned and let a smile curve his mouth. "Whatever's on your mind, Alistair, just ask. You're my friend."

"I know you've… er, done things, with other men."

"You do?" Cynric was amused. 

"Well, you're not exactly subtle about that sort of thing. And I'd have to be even more of an idiot than Morrigan thinks I am not to notice how you look at me. But how does it... you know... work? With two men?" 

"However the two men please," Cynric said, shrugging. "It's not so mysterious. Most things are the same."

"Really?"

"Some things," Cynric admitted. "Here." He leaned up on an elbow, cupped Alistair's cheek and traced a thumb over his face, enjoying the scratchy sensation of the regrowth of hair. 

Alistair's eyes widened in the lamplight, gleaming with curiosity. Cynric drew Alistair towards him, ready to stop at the slightest hesitation. But Alistair took a breath, leaned in, and their lips met.

Cynric kissed him gently, keeping his lips slow and light. It was a very _chaste_ kiss, Cynric thought, commending himself for his restraint; until Alistair, eyes closed, began to breathe harder. His lips parted, just a fraction, waiting. Cynric moaned and couldn't resist; he slipped in with his tongue-tip, gauging his friend's reaction carefully. Alistair gasped as Cynric's tongue pressed gently into his mouth. They kissed, still slowly, Cynric's tongue inside his mouth. Then, fearful of overstepping boundaries, Cynric pulled away with his hands on the other Warden's shoulders, and looked at his face searchingly. Alistair's eyes were bright, his interest piqued. 

"I've never done that before," Alistair admitted.

"Never been kissed?" Cynric smiled at his companion, making sure to keep every trace of judgment out of his eyes and voice. 

He'd succeeded. Alistair shook his head without embarrassment. "I never had the opportunity."

"Then I'm lucky," Cynric said. "I get the first taste." He slid his fingers through Alistair's short, blondish hair to draw him in again. 

This time, Alistair laid the palm of his hand on Cynric's chest, holding him at bay. "I've never been interested in other men," he said. "And I'm, you know, still not."

Cynric nodded, trying hard to keep the pain out of his eyes at Alistair's words. Of course he wasn't interested in men. If Cynric was honest with himself, he had to admit that he had known all along. He suppressed a pang of regret, and let Alistair go with a squeeze of his arm. "Understood, my friend," he said.

Alistair looked away, running his fingers through his hair. "There I go, talking again. I should try not to do that so often - it only leads to misunderstanding. I didn't mean for you to stop, Cynric," he said. "Not just yet. I just thought you should know that I won't want - more."

Cynric smiled to himself. He had been down this road before. There had been a few young elven men from the Denerim Alienage who were curious enough for furtive kisses in an abandoned storeroom, or for fumbling sweatily up against an alley wall, hands inside each other's trousers. Some would even go so far as a tumble in the hay behind the arl's stables. But, with their curiosity sated - or supressed - their interest in pursuing anything with another man was over. They went on to marry whichever woman their parents told them to, and never bothered with Cynric again. At least Alistair was honest about what he wanted... or didn't want. 

"I'll cope, Alistair," he said. "This isn't the first time I've wanted more than someone else has."

"I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to think we could - you know. Be together. I can't do that."

"One kiss doesn't mean forever," Cynric said with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders to hide the hurt. Then he looked up at Alistair with a sly smirk. "Or even two."

Alistair's brow knotted, then relaxed. "You're right, of course," he said, and grinned. "It's not like you were going to propose. That'd just be awkward. I mean, who'd wear the dress?"

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Cynric dismissed his annoyance and took his chance. Alistair's eyes were still curious, still eager. Cynric leaned in and brushed closed lips across Alistair's, sighing in mixed relief and pleasure when the warrior slid an arm around him to draw him closer. They kissed again, still slow. But Alistair was growing more confident by the moment.

"Elves don't ever have beards, do they?" Alistair mused, when they paused for breath. "Mine doesn't bother you?"

Cynric shrugged. "It grows on you," he said innocently.

A moment passed before Alistair groaned in disgust. "You're a bad person," he said, shaking his head at Cynric's satisfied grin.

"I have another question," Alistair said. "How do you decide who _does_ it? Do you flip a coin, and whoever loses has to, er, bend over? I suppose it'd be easier with us - you are an elf, after all."

This time Cynric's eyeroll was uncontainable. Where would he even start to explain? Sex was rarely predictable. Good sex, anyway. It could be warm, passionate, funny, awkward; but however it turned out, taking another man inside you was hardly comparable to a chore, or the outcome of losing a bet. And Maker's sake, what did being an elf have to do with it?

"You know, there's always the idea of talking," Cynric said. "Find out what you both want. Wouldn't you do that with a woman, too?"

"Talk about it? I - I wouldn't know what to say. And surely it would kill the mood."

"To find out what your lover desires, and what to avoid? I'm fairly sure that would _improve_ her mood, Alistair."

Alistair thought for a moment. "You're right, of course. I'd never want to do something a woman didn't want me to." He frowned. "I just hope I'll be able to tell if I'm - you know. Getting it right. When the time comes."

"You'll be fine, Alistair," he said. He stroked Alistair's cheek, smiling. "I'd love to kiss you again. Only if you want to."

This time Alistair was the one to pull him close, long fingers wrapping behind his head. He felt the warrior's hand shaking fractionally before his grip suddenly steadied.

Cynric gasped in surprise and pleasure as Alistair's tongue thrust firmly between his lips. Alistair took control, tilting Cynric's head back, strong, calloused fingers along his cheekbones and the line of his jaw. The kiss went on and on, until Cynric, dizzy with pleasure and excitement, hands roaming Alistair's back, moaned and involuntarily thrust his cock against the warrior's thigh. Alistair tensed at that, and Cynric stopped, pulling away with his head spinning. 

"How did I do?" Alistair said. "Was that - was it good?"

Cynric swallowed hard, breathing quickly, pulse drumming in his throat. "Andraste's hallowed ass, Alistair, do you really need to ask?" 

He caught his breath, still buzzing from pleasure. Alistair grinned, looking pleased with himself. "What - er, what else do men do together?"

"I... could show you something I love to do," Cynric offered. "If you want."

"I want," Alistair whispered.

Cynric trailed slow kisses down Alistair's throat, over the stubbled hair to softer skin. He slipped his fingers under Alistair's Warden amulet to move it aside, allowing access to the hollow of his throat. Cynric loved that spot; sensitive, vulnerable, nestled between the strong lines of Alistair's collarbone. Cynric's tongue dragged lower, down through the fair hair on Alistair's chest, while his hands slid over the warrior's broad shoulders. 

He was so _big_ , Cynric thought. No wonder humans built their immense stone cities! Everything about them was made on a larger scale. The muscles of Alistair's arms felt like hot, smooth stone. 

An image rose in his mind of Alistair in battle, greatsword in his hands. Once, Cynric had scorned such heavy weapons, especially when wielded by humans in even heavier armour. For his own part, Cynric preferred a pair of daggers, light armour, and his own uncanny ability to go mostly unnoticed - to the point where he'd almost always end up _behind_ his enemies, no matter which way they'd been facing to start with. A darkspawn couldn't hit you if it couldn't see you.

But watching Alistair on the battlefield, he realised he'd been wrong about the fighting style of a warrior. Of _this_ warrior, anyway. With his heavy blade perfectly controlled, Alistair would cleave clean through a darkspawn from collarbone to hip, letting the weapon's momentum carry it around for the next deadly cut, and the next, in continuous graceful arcs. If it was possible for carnage to be beautiful, Alistair achieved it.

Cynric's tongue reached Alistair's sensitive belly, and he smiled as the warrior twitched with sensation.

"Maker," Alistair hissed, rocking into the touch.

Cynric edged Alistair's trousers lower to reveal strong hipbones and a trail of coarse dark hair. He had thought he might be put off by it - by all that hair, by Alistair's human scent. Jokes had filtered around the Denerim alienage, about humans and their hairiness and their supposed lack of personal hygiene. Now, kissing down Alistair's flat belly, his mouth and nose immersed in scent, Cynric realised how foolish that was. Alistair smelled good - familiar and warm and masculine.

He reached for the waistband of Alistair's trousers and looked up at the warrior. "More?" he asked. 

"More," Alistair replied, hoarsely, fumbling for his belt buckle.

"Let me," Cynric said, smiling. "I can open anything." His deft fingers slipped the belt loose in moments.

"I don't doubt that," Alistair said. "Maker, I - I've never even thought about doing something like this before."

Cynric hesitated, concern knotting his brow. Maybe he should stop. Give Alistair time to think. 

"Sweet Maker, don't stop now," Alistair said, hands in his hair. 

"If you're sure," Cynric said. He slid Alistair's trousers down past his hips, and Alistair arched his back awkwardly in the cramped space of the tent to get them to his knees, freeing his cock. 

Cynric raised an eyebrow when he saw it, holding back a grin. At least one story from the alienage turned out to be true - humans _were_ bigger. This would be interesting. 

He cupped Alistair's cock in both hands. Alistair groaned and shifted his hips awkwardly in the confined space of the tent. The tip of his cock was already wet, a little bead of desire swelling at the head. Cynric licked it, tasting salt on his tongue-tip, and Alistair's breath left his body with a rush. Cynric kissed the head, swept his tongue around it, then drew it into his mouth. 

"Maker, Maker -!" Alistair's fingers threaded through his hair, his hips rising as Cynric took him deeper, filling his mouth with his length. 

Cynric shut his eyes, slipping two fingers under Alistair's sac. There was so much more hair. Alistair smelled different, tasted different; not good or bad, or in any way Cynric could explain. Just different, the way one kind of flower smelled different from another. 

His mouth worked Alistair's length, and he moaned around the thick shaft. Cynric hadn't lied when he said he loved to do this - the feel of Alistair in his mouth, thick and hard, hot and smooth. One hand resting on the flat, hard surface of his belly, feeling it shudder as pleasured gasps escaped his throat.

He tightened his mouth, pressing with his tongue. Alistair felt so good, pushing between his lips, into his mouth. Cynric tried to relax enough to take his whole length, right to the base of his soft sac; he couldn't quite achieve it. But Maker, it felt good. Having a man's shaft in his mouth, breathing in the scent of sex. Drawing his lover closer to his peak; feeling his hips move almost as though he was writhing in pain. Giving pleasure until his lover could stand no more, until he was so abjectly blissed that he could do nothing but spill.

It was not long before Alistair's hips began to move with helpless shudders rather than thrusts. A hand clutched Cynric's hair - a reflexive clench of his fist, not intended to hurt. "I'm - Cynric, in your mouth, are you sure…?"

" _Mmm_ ," Cynric voiced. Yes, in his mouth. Maker, yes. He sucked, flicking a finger along the crease of Alistair's ass, just the hint of a touch. 

It had the desired effect. "Maker! Oh, Maker!"

Alistair's hips thrashed so hard that Cynric had to grip him tight to keep his shaft in his mouth. Hot salt filled his mouth. He swallowed, moaning his approval, sucking hard to draw out more. Alistair cried his name, hips bucking and back arching, and there was more salt - a second spurt, then a third.

"Stop, stop," Alistair gasped, and Cynric let him go at once, freeing Alistair's wet cock from his mouth just as another shudder wracked the human's body - a fourth! Maker, Cynric was skilled, if he did say it himself - and seed spattered his face. Blinking it from one eye, he rolled to Alistair's side, grinning in satisfaction. 

"I'm sorry," Alistair said. "I - I didn't mean to, I just couldn't -" 

Cynric laughed, wiping his eye. "Shh," he whispered. "I do have that effect. Relax, Alistair."

He rested his cheek on Alistair's belly, which was damp with sweat. Stroking his chest, Cynric's fingers flicked over a hard nipple, making Alistair shudder with sensation. He savoured the last echoes of Alistair's pleasure as the other warden's chest rose and fell, his breath gradually slowing.

"Oh, Maker," Alistair groaned, running a hand over his face.

"Are you all right?" Cynric leaned up on one elbow.

"I - I don't - Maker. What will the others think?"

Cynric shrugged. "Who cares? We're not doing anything wrong. And I doubt they're awake now anyway."

"If they weren't awake before, they are now," Alistair said. "You could've heard me in Highever."

Cynric grinned, licking his lips for the last taste of salt. He was proud of his abilities. The louder he could make his bed-partner cry out, the better. 

"I think perhaps you enjoyed that, my friend," he said, stroking Alistair's muscled arm.

"That? Maker's Breath, that was - I didn't even know that was - with your - wow." Alistair was getting his breath back. "I thought it was all about, er, putting it in - you know."

"It can be," Cynric said. "For some." He stroked Alistair's bare, flat belly with the backs of his fingers, feeling hair still damp with sweat. "But there are so many things two people can do together. Why obsess over just one?"

They lay together in silence.

"I… don't know how to do that," Alistair said, eventually. "What you did. I'm sorry. Do you want - should I try?" He sounded hesitant. 

Cynric squeezed his shoulder. "Just rest, Alistair," he said. 

"Should I... Er, shall I go?" Alistair's voice said he didn't want to move. 

"Only if you want to," Cynric said, running a hand through Alistair's red-blond hair and feeling it tickle the palm of his hand. "I'd love for you to stay."

"Yes, I suppose I'd better stay," Alistair said with a yawn. "Your dreams, and all. I remember what it's like. It would've been good to have someone there who understood, when I woke. Remind you that you're still in possession of your own mind, you know?" He stretched as best he could in Cynric's small tent, then flopped back onto the bedroll, arms folded behind his head. Cynric snuggled against him, letting Alistair's sense of warmth and safety wash over him.

Soon the human was snoring softly into his hair. Cynric sighed, feeling the pulse of blood in his own throat and the hard bulge in the front of his trousers. The warm, hard body next to him; the way Alistair had felt, helpless under his hands and mouth - and then spilling, filling his mouth with his essence. It was glorious. He debated internally whether to satisfy himself, and decided not to.

Again he felt a twist of pain, thinking of Alistair - brave, sweet, protective, awkward. Underneath all that deflection and flippant humour was a staunch heart, the kind of man who could give himself to someone else with an honesty that most people could only dream of finding. Whoever won Alistair's heart would never doubt for his love and loyalty. If only... 

But no. There was no "if only". There never was. Cynric stifled a sigh - he always did seem to fall for men whose true interest was in women. 

He would enjoy the moment, then let it pass - he sensed that another like it would not come. He lay down, snug against Alistair's warm body, his head in the crook of the warrior's arm and shoulder. He must simply try to be thankful for what he had - a friend who cared about him, and a sweet memory to warm the nights ahead.


End file.
